


The Man Who Wasn't There

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 13:10:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20135980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Germany - World War II -  In the dark shadows of Stalag 13, two young men, each soldiers, though in the sworn service to opposing forces, come face to face in the night over the fate of one fool.  Will a soldier's duty cause that meeting to end with one of their deaths?  All for a man who wasn't really there?





	The Man Who Wasn't There

Two old men, from different cultures, but both very wise in ways not many men had the capacity for in the modern world. Their grandsons, inheritors of that wisdom. One man, not so wise - in fact, more of a fool than anything else, as he insisted on proving time and again. It was an odd twist of fate that brought them together in the same place at the same time.

Now, in the shadows of Stalag 13, the two young men, both now soldiers in the sworn service to opposing forces, come face to face in the night over the fate of the fool. Will a soldier's duty cause that meeting to end with one of their deaths? Or will old wisdom prevail and ensure their future?

It was perhaps a quirk of fate that two grandfathers had such influence on their grandsons, leading them to this night of decisions. For it had been Andrew Carter's grandfather who had been instrumental in Andrew's being behind the delousing hut in the first place. And it was Dieter Van's grandfather who would be instrumental in determining the guard's actions, actions that would in turn determine Andrew Carter's fate.

Andrew had loved and respected his grandfather past all imagining. The old man had loved his son, of course, and was loved in return, but Andrew's father had been missing the spark that existed within the old man. A spark that dwelt just below the skin, a spark that claimed a deeper knowledge of important things than most were even capable of seeing, knowing. Little Deer, also known as 'Andrew', though, HE had that spark, and his grandfather did all he could to nourish that in his most beloved grandson.

The old man knew their time together would be short, so, while asking forgiveness from the Old Ones for taking shortcuts in Andrew's training, poured all he could into his grandson, hoping the youngster was strong enough and smart enough to take it all in. Oh, he knew it could be years before it all was incorporated, became a part of the boy, but at least it would be there, a reserve, a source of power.

And the old man called on others, friends, cousins, uncles, aunts, any who had old knowledge, and asked that they do the same. "For he is one who could have followed in our footsteps, had things been different. That will not be; yet, to him we have a duty, and the smoke has told me that he will bear the wisdom forth, and will use it as best he can. I have Seen, and I tell you this - he will make us proud, a quiet Warrior who will fight many battles, and overcome many enemies, and his children and his children's children will know and respect our ways when many others will forget those who have gone before."

And so it was that while his father and mother thought he was running wild in the summer sun and in the winter snow, he was doing some of that, but more was he drinking in the stories and learning and wisdom of the elders of the reservation. 

And while he rarely spoke of that, having been cautioned against doing so, he gathered it all inside, revisiting it frequently. The places of solitude he would seek out, to think, to meditate, and his parents got used to that, deciding it was just his way. The smoking of certain herbs to gain enlightenment, that he didn't mention either, or the rituals to see visions in the smoke of a campfire or even the flames in a fireplace or a woodstove. 

Over the years he came to understand more and more, as pieces slid into his mind and heart as he grew enough to incorporate them. And by the time he had arrived at Stalag 13, he had learned to mask who and what he was so well that no one had ever suspected. 

Not until that night in the shadows of the delousing hut and the guard tower. The night when Corporal Dieter Van, guard and what some uneasily termed 'mystic', watched with new eyes, and saw what was truly there.

He watched from the shadows. No, not the veiled shadows of his mind from which Dieter Van always watched those around him, but the actual shadows formed by the delousing station and the guard tower beyond, 

Whether the ability to Watch, to See, was a curse or a gift he had often discussed with his grandfather, who had also been a Watcher, a reader of the secret things, but surely that was irrelevant since this incident was occurring in the very solid here-and-now, not the future or even the parts of another person's self that often went unseen by others. 

Yet, perhaps it wasn't so irrelevant. As he watched and listened to what was happening there in the shadows, the tense conversation, the angry whispers, the frantic movement that ended with one man standing, the other laying on the ground, motionless, he found himself Watching as well, Seeing things that seemed impossible. Oh, perhaps not the things themselves, though you would think some of them WOULD be impossible, but that they were centered around this particular young man, a prisoner in the German prisoner of war camp where he himself was a guard.

Now, he had to wonder at what he saw with his Watching. He had never done a 'reading' on young Andrew Carter, and now wondered at why that was. He had never thought there was much there to 'read' in the first place, but now he could see he had been wrong in that assumption, blind to what was now so obviously there. 

Perhaps it was the young man's unique bloodlines or some other natural defense that had kept Van from seeing all the multilayers that now shimmered before him, like oil glistening on a pool of water. Maybe he had just never looked closely enough, and again he had to ask himself why that was.

Before he had seen only the naive, clumsy, chattering fellow that was presented to the world at large. Now? Ah, that was a different story, as if viewing the past little bit of time had pulled back a curtain, laying a totally different panorama open to Dieter Van. Let him see the 'what could be' along with the 'what is', realizing all that had been hidden away so successfully.

And, even more, he was now presented with a delimma. He could watch, and do his duty, and report what had just happened, and this young man would be taken into custody and most likely executed, if not by the Kommandant, then eventually by Carter's own people. 

For however the pompous Englishman, this Colonel Crittendon, had managed to get into camp undetected, {"and why WOULD he??! He has been a prisoner here on at least two occasions; did he like it so much he just had to return??!"}, the man was unmistakeably dead. Dead at the hands of the American sergeant, if in a most unlikely manner.

Even if he watched and did nothing, the Sergeant would most likely be found out, with very much the same consequences, for how could Sergeant Carter get rid of a body that size quickly and cleverly enough to escape detection? No, he would be found out, and his future would be a bleak one, and probably very short.

And if that happened, the remarkable future he had just seen for Carter would disappear, just another of the 'fortunes of war' he kept hearing about with such depressing regularity. For what Dieter Van saw in his visions was not set in stone, only of great probability; fate and mischance and misfortune could turn such aside.

Now the German soldier had a decision to make, one where duty warred with duty, those duties perhaps warring with other duties that he also was responsible for.

He sighed in the darkness. {"Life is so complicated, Grandfather, even in peacetime, and now???!"}. And he searched his mind, his heart, and heard that familiar voice, the one that spoke to him so often, even so long after the old man's death. 

*"Yes, Dieter, it is, sometimes. But this, this is not so complicated, is it? Look inside, Dieter, you will see there is only one answer. I taught you to do your duty. Now, you must do what your duty tells you to do. Do as you know I would do in your place."*

And Dieter looked again, and nodded firmly. {"Yes, Grandfather, only one answer. A man's duty is a man's duty, after all. I think I have even heard that one, the British colonel, say much the same."}

And Corporal Dieter Van straightened, and proceeded to do his duty as he had been taught.

The most Andrew Carter had been expecting when he sneaked out of the barracks that night was an encounter with one of the guards, but since he'd looked at the roster and knew who was on duty and where - Schultz on one long loop, Dieter Van on the other - he figured that would be okay. Neither one would kick up much of a fuss if they saw him, just escort him back with a mild scolding. He really needed to get out into the night air, before he said something he'd regret. 

He'd come really close there, a few minutes ago. Well, everyone was on edge; having the Gestapo run two snap inspections within one week will do that to a guy, especially when you're trying to run a couple of jobs at the same time. Oh, they hadn't found anything, those in their black uniforms and shiny boots, but they'd sure made a mess of the barracks; turned all the footlockers upside down, ripped up the mattresses, even the few books they'd found. The books the guys knew backwards and forwards, could pretty much recite from memory, but even so . . .

Now, just to add to the tension, Hogan was on one of his kicks. Andrew could recite THOSE from memory too. Oh, not the exact words, the exact incident, but the general drift of things was pretty much the same whenever he'd get onto one of the guys. Boy, the Colonel sure knew what buttons to push!

The sly comment about LeBeau and that hotel dumbwaiter that had freaked him out so much on that job last week, for example. Well, heck! As claustrophobic as LeBeau was, and with them having to stop that dumbwaiter, with LeBeau inside, halfway between for almost fifteen minutes, since there was a German soldier standing right by the panel on both floors, that would have given anyone the willies! It just hadn't been very nice, what the Colonel had just said, though it was all said with a disarming laugh and a quick clap on LeBeau's shoulder, but the comment about "you're the great chef, LeBeau! Next time, just cook up some shrinking powder to sprinkle on Carter or Newkirk and I'll let them do it, LeBeau. See, it's all up to you; brew up that fairy dust or do the job, whichever. I'm not one to micro-manage, you know!", that had been enough to put everyone out of sorts, not just the sulking Frenchman.

Newkirk taking that hard fall coming out of the back window of the building where he'd tried, unsuccessfully, to riffle that new kind of safe? Sheesh! You'd think the Colonel would be a little more sympathetic. It wasn't like Newkirk wasn't beating himself up about that, both parts of it, along with nursing the numerous bruises he'd gotten in the tumble! But, no. Hogan had just, again with a congenial laugh and a slap on the shoulder - a slap a little harder than Carter, and possibly even Newkirk, thought was absolutely necessary, from the sudden tightening of the Englishman's expression - suggested that "maybe your Alfie the Artiste knows someone a little, well, younger, Newkirk. Someone more up to those new safes they're making these days. Maybe someone a little more limber and agile, more able to handle the more strenuous activity. Maybe we can put in a request to London and ask him?"

Olsen was scolded for spending more time than Hogan thought was necessary talking with the guards and Hilda, (maybe especially to Hilda), even the other prisoners, reminding the young man that "we don't want anyone to miss you when you're gone. You have to be inconspicuous while you're here, just a piece of the furniture, totally unimportant." Yeah, it was true Olsen needed to keep a low profile, but it was hard enough being a prisoner with limited contact; having that restricted even more, along with the implication of being totally unimportant, totally forgettable, well, that hadn't been very nice.

Andrew wasn't very sure what Kinch had been scolded about, but the clinched jaw told everyone that it had for sure happened, and the unusually calm sergeant hadn't taken it all that well.

As for Andrew? Well, before Hogan had even gotten around to him, he'd started a quiet little meditation, crosslegged on his bunk, pulled back into the shadows, trying to distance himself from the roiling resentment in the room. He'd come to hearing an impatient "Sergeant Carter!! Snap out of it! If I wanted to be ignored, I'd be talking to London, not you! Sometimes, I swear . . ."

Andrew had kinda listened, kinda not, to what followed, though putting an expression of giving serious attention on his face. No sense winding up their commanding officer any more than he already was. 

But it really wasn't fair. Just because Tiger had bailed on that meeting last night, and Rene had shown up instead. And just because Hilda had left early with a migraine and hadn't been available for a little backseat romance. Sheesh, it wasn't THEIR fault! If going dry for a few days was an excuse for being in a nasty mood, everyone in camp would have been at each others' throats a long time ago. Heck, a few days? Talk about months, even maybe years for some of the guys!

Anyhow, once Hogan had left to see if the Kommandant might be interested in a game of chess and a drink, or whatever, the atmosphere had been tense, everyone quietly wallowing in their own misery. 

"I gotta get outta here for awhile," he'd whispered to Newkirk, and the Englishman had nodded absently, but had also walked him to the door, making sure it was clear before opening it wide enough for Carter to slip out.

A firm grip to his shoulder, not one of those falsely jovial claps like Hogan had delivered, but a sincere expression of warm concern that brought a faint smile to Andrew's face, had been accompanied by Newkirk leaning in close, whispering "you be careful, you 'ear me, Andrew? Don't go far, now. You get in trouble, you let out a yell, right??! I'll be listening for you."

So, out into the night air where he could finally take a deep breath, then slipping through the shadows to the bench over by the water tower. He would have liked to have gone over by the kennels, but the dogs liked him, would have wanted to come say hello and have him play and that would have attracted too much attention. 

"Here, now! Just the person I was looking for!" a crisp but low voice came from the darkness below the tower, and Andrew's jaw dropped open.

Crittendon??! What the heck was the British officer doing here?? He'd been transferred out (again) the week prior when Hogan had convinced Klink that the bumbling incompetent was planning a mass escape, and everyone thought they were well rid of him.

"Slipped in with the supply truck," Crittendon explained with a self-approving smile. "Needed to discuss a few things with the Kommandant, don't you know, and since Colonel Hogan isn't willing to listen to reason, or willing to accept the proper obligations of a proper prisoner of war, had to do it this way. Don't like being underhanded, you know, but can't have all this slackness. Letting the side down, all that. Just not cricket."

"Uh, discuss WHAT with the Kommandant?" Andrew asked, ignoring the other nonsense. Well, Crittendon had been more than vocal about his firm disapproval of any espionage activities by prisoners (like, uh, their main occupation), or undue fraternization, which is what he saw their schmoozing up to and manipulating Schultz to be. OR LeBeau manufacturing something more edible than what the mess hall had to offer, especially with the supplies coming from Newkirk's illicit shopping expeditions. OR Newkirk's overly-long sideburns. OR his stock of contraband. OR their connection with the Underground. OR most everything ELSE they were doing.

"Why, what has been going on around here, of course! We have obligations, as soldiers, as honorable men, Sergeant! Why, just what I have seen during my brief stays, any decent court martial convened would have no choice but to drop down the gavel!"

Andrew listened in sheer horror as Crittendon listed out a few of the things he intended to 'discuss' with Kommandant Klink. {"Boy, not even the Colonel would be able to talk Klink out of taking action once he hears all that!"}

Frantically he started talking, using every argument he could to persuade Crittendon that all that was unnecessary, not helpful to the war effort or anything else, but obviously to no avail. 

The officer had continued as if Carter hadn't even opened his mouth.

"And furthermore, I spotted your man, Olsen, outside the wire, and of all things, fraternizing with one of the guards! And in a most unseemly manner; why, I blush to even think! And last night, while I was passing through town, I saw that Cockney fellow, Newkirk, tumbling down the side of a building. Got close enough to hear him telling someone that he'd tried to break into a safe, can you believe??! Trying to steal private property, mind you, some fellow's personal journal! Instead of being here, either asleep or working on a tunnel to escape like any prisoner is obliged to do, he's out thieving! You can be sure I intend to mention both of THOSE little articles! And you, Sergeant Carter, I expect you to back me up in all of this! It is your duty as a soldier, after all!"

Crittendon had turned to head to the Kommandant's office, headed in the wrong direction as should have been expected. Carter frantically grabbed for his shoulder, pulling him back, janking hard, trying to get him to stop, to actually listen, and that's when it happened.

Crittendon had stiffened, started to turn back, probably to lambast Carter for laying his hands on an officer, when the officer slipped in the muddy puddles under the tower. Hands and arms flailing, trying to regain his balance, Crittendon fell backwards, the back of his head landing with a resounding THUD against the heavy tackle hook and gear and accumulation of chains that made the whole water tower assembly work. 

Carter stared down at the limp body of the officer laying on the muddy ground. Leaning down to check for a pulse, he swallowed hard. 

"Geezo! No one is gonna believe this! Newkirk, I think I'm in trouble! Really, really big trouble!" he whispered frantically.

A familiar voice came from behind him, sighing with resignation at a complication he really didn't need and certainly didn't want. "Yes, Sergeant Carter, I must agree. Even I, who easily believe some very remarkable things, would not find it so easy to believe this, and I SAW it."

Sergeant Carter and Corporal Dieter Van stared at each other for a few moments, then down to that silent body once again.

"Remain here, Sergeant. I must find help if this is to be gotten through without more harm being done," the corporal had said urgently, then disappeared.

Carter remained there, staring down at the remains of one of the most annoying men he had ever met. He probably should apologize, he figured. It seemed the right thing to do, even if it had been an accident. Well, kinda. I mean, he had been READY to belt Crittendon when it had happened, but he hadn't, cause of the officer slipping and all. But still, he figured his mom would have expected him to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. Well, sort've anyhow. I mean, I'm sorry you ended up dead and all, but not sorry you won't get to cause all that trouble you were gonna cause for Olsen and Newkirk, and heck, for all of us! Boy! I just don't see why you wouldn't just listen to reason for once!"

He was going to have to have a long talk with his grandfather about this; well, he discussed all the complicated stuff with his grandfather, and with his grandfather being dead and all, his beloved teacher was pretty much always available to sit and have a long conversation whenever Andrew needed him to. 

{"And this one is gonna be a humdinger!"}

Dieter Van paused once out of eyesight, thinking once again, checking to be sure of his decision, then nodded firmly. {"This one, he is, will be, many things, to me and to others, some quite surprising. The others in this place, they possibly also have a future waiting for them. The one who is no more? His fate is already cast. My duty is to the living, at least in this instance."}

Yes, he would need help, and with what he had overheard, there was at least one person he knew he could count on for help. Headed for the second Guards' Barracks, he slid in and tapped a dozing Karl Langenscheidt on the shoulder. When Karl had opened his weary eyes to give Dieter a rather jaundiced look, he'd been surprised to see a look of rueful amusement on his fellow guard's face.

In the softest of whispers Dieter had spoken. "So, Karl, tell me. How would you like a fine opportunity to be sent to the Russian Front? Or perhaps to be shot by a firing squad? Are you feeling adventurous tonight?" he asked in an almost inaudible voice. The look of astonished dismay on Karl Langenscheidt's face was almost enough to make Dieter laugh, and perhaps would later when he replayed that moment in his mind. At the moment, however, things were just too serious and time was ticking away.

"Or perhaps you would like a fine plot for one of your stories? You could call it 'The Invisible Man', or perhaps, 'Disappearing Act'. There are all sorts of titles that come to mind. Tell me, Karl, have you ever heard the poem by the American poet Hughes Mearns, the one called 'The Little Man Who Wasn't There'? Part of it goes 'Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today. I wish, I wish he'd go away.' That is what we are dealing with. How best to make a man disappear and not RE-APPEAR, especially when the man didn't exist in the first place? At least, not in the place he ultimately disappeared. Such lovely possibilities, don't you think?"

Karl frowned, perplexed, and whispered in return. "Dieter, have you been buying schnapps from old man Heintz outside Hammelburg? Who KNOWS what he puts in that stuff! It will make your mind and your eyes see such dreadful things! That is, if it does not kill you first!"

Dieter gave a low rueful laugh. "Well, I have certainly been seeing things, but there was no schnapps involved. Come, we have a small situation, and it will take both of us to resolve. Papa Schultz's boys, one of them anyway, needs our help. Well, after all, if WE are Papa Schultz's boys, and HE is Papa Schultz's boy, then we are brothers, no? And brothers help each other surely. Plus there are, or will be, other connections, but not if we do not handle this problem quickly and very, very quietly."

Karl gave Dieter a very suspicious look, but shrugged into his jacket and followed his fellow guard out of the barracks into the night. When they reached the area behind the delousing station, Karl could only stare in horror and bemusement at the bulky form stretched out in the shadows. He raised incredulous eyes to the apprehensive young man facing them.

"Uh, hi, Karl. I think I maybe kinda killed him; well, it was an accident really, but I guess if I hadn't a grabbed at him, trying to make him listen, he wouldn't have slipped and fell and hit his head. But I had to try; he couldn't go telling the Kommandant all that stuff, about Olsen, or about Newkirk, or heck, about a whole bunch of stuff! Even telling Colonel Hogan about some stuff wouldn't a been good!"

Langenscheidt stiffened, glanced at Dieter Van, and got a solemn nod that told him exactly what the officer had been about to tell about Colin Olsen. 

Carter didn't pay any attention, still bemoaning the whole episode.

"Boy, the Colonel is gonna be really upset about this! Not that anyone really wanted him around, of course; Crittendon, I mean. He was really a pain. But I don't think you're supposed to be killing your own officers. Though, he wasn't really one of MY officers, I guess, me being an American and all -"

"Carter, just be quiet. You are giving me a very bad headache," Karl Langenscheidt groaned, thinking the hour's sleep he'd gotten after he got off duty just wasn't enough to be handling a situation like this.

Carter nodded sadly, "yeah, I hear that a lot. Mostly from Newkirk, sometimes from the others. Even heard it from my dad a lot of the -"

"Carter! Stop talking, please!!!" the two Germans groaned in unison.

Newkirk had come looking for Carter, more than a little worried that the young man had been gone so long. Now, slipping through the darkness, he found his missing barracks-mate leaning on a shovel at the far side of the Kommandant's quarters, along with a sweating Dieter Van and Karl Langenscheidt. 

Newkirk had looked from one to the other, then to the big bare rectangle, obviously the result of some serious digging. 

{"Who the 'ell goes around digging up the place in the middle of the night??!"}

"Andrew? W'at the bloody 'ell are you up to?" giving the other two a highly suspicious stare. "TOLD you not to go getting into any trouble, now didn't I?"

A snort of something approaching, but never quite reaching laughter came from the two Germans, and a muttered "trouble, he says!", and Andrew looked up at Newkirk with a slightly sheepish expression.

"Uh, Peter? You really don't want to know. Believe me. Not right now. Maybe not ever, but for sure not now. Maybe someday, maybe after the war. Things might just look different then, you know? Why, one time I remember . . ."

And a weary trio of voices announced in unison, "Carter, just stop talking. Please."

And Andrew Carter looked at the three and nodded. Just as well, probably. He didn't have a clue how he would have explained this to Newkirk anyway. Maybe his grandfather would have some ideas.

It was a couple of days later, and Dieter was on guard duty, stolidly walking every step of the perimeter, careful as to what he should and shouldn't see. He had decided early on, he and Karl Langenscheidt, that Sergeant Hans Schultz was in many ways a very smart man. There was a time to see, and a time to not-see, a time to hear, a time to hear nothing. Of course, with Dieter Van, all that was far more difficult than with most. That last episode had certainly been proof of that, not that he'd needed proof.

Now, as he turned the corner, he saw Sergent Andrew Carter perched crosslegged on one of the benches outside the most far-flung barracks, one in which there were actually no prisoners at this time. The young man's eyes were closed, but not in sleep.

Glancing around to be sure he was out of sight of the tower guards and any others who might prove to be overly inquisitive, he stepped closer, stopped, and smiled in a friendly manner.

"A day of sunshine, it is a rare and welcome thing, no?" he asked.

Andrew opened his eyes slowly. He'd just been returning from a very satisfying meditation, one in which his grandfather had been reassuring him about a lot of things, including about this very man who now stood near to him. Well, him and Karl Langenscheidt, though he'd already been pretty confident Karl was an okay guy. After all, Olsen was a real good judge of character, so it only goes to show, right? 

He'd also been checking with his grandfather about Crittendon; he didn't THINK he'd intended to kill the officer, but he HAD been awful mad and awful scared. He'd wanted to check to see if it mattered that he'd been both of those things more on behalf of his friends and the others in camp than for himself. It seemed it SHOULD, but then again, he wasn't as smart as grandfather, he knew that; never would be, since his grandfather was the smartest person he'd ever met.

His grandfather had reminded him that he'd been trying to protect his friends, his 'family'. That he had been trying to protect the job he'd taken on, to help those in need of help. That he had done only what a Warrior would be expected to do, and that not even a Warrior could always make things come out right for everyone.

*"Well, okay, but I'm not really a Warrior, ya know. And besides, you love me; you'd want to make me feel better,"" Andrew had thought back at the increasingly-amused old man. This grandson was a source of much entertainment and there wasn't a lot of that available once you were dead.

*"Yes, I love you, LIttle Deer, but never have I lied to you. And you ARE a Warrior. Think on the other Warrior you know; would THAT one have hesitated to challenge that fool who was willing to do such harm to suit his own notions? Think of the Red Wolf and see if your actions were so very different from what hers would have been. And I doubt her actions would have been so much of an accident."*

Well, he hadn't thought about that. What WOULD Caeide have done? He snickered quietly even considering it, and was satisfied, even figured Crittendon would probably prefer the ending he got to facing HER!

Getting the thumbs-up from Grandfather had put him in a far better frame of mind than he'd been before, enough that he could greet Dieter Van with calmness within his heart.

Yep, Dieter Van was another of those who were as near to being friends as an 'enemy' could be; he might not betray his duty, but he would be very flexible in the application of that duty. Very discerning of where that duty actually lay, for the duties of a person, a man, a soldier, and perhaps most of all, a grandson of one of the Gifted Ones, it all got very complicated sometimes. Heck, Andrew understood that better than most anyone else would; he faced pretty much the same kinds of challenges himself.

"Yeah, it sure is. A nice day, I mean," he grinned, enthusiasm showing through even the slight lethargy the meditation always left him with. Well, along with the herbs his grandfather had taught him to use to enter that meditation; it sure was lucky the forest had those same herbs growing all around. He figured if more people knew about all that stuff, there'd be a lot less mean and miserable people running around trying to hurt other people. 

They spoke of this and that, and then the corporal had paused.

"I think I shall tell you a little story, Sergeant. It is a pleasant day for storytelling, is it not?" Dieter Van's face stilled, moving away from his usual animation into the dreamier state he took on when he was telling his 'special' stories. 

Andrew swallowed heavily. He knew all about Dieter's stories, saw the truth in them. So far he had avoided being the focus of that dreamy look, though it had taken a little (well, okay, a lot) of misdirection, but with a quick look around, he shrugged resignedly. If Dieter HAD to speak truths to him, at least there wasn't anyone around to overhear, maybe learn more than it would be wise to learn.

A slow smile, one of gentle comfort, amused knowledge. 

"Ah, Sergeant Carter! Such things will come to you. Not all will be good, of course, just as not all that has come before has been good; no man's life contains only good and kind things. But you will find, at the end, that you have had an abundance of riches, such that will cause you to look about you in wonder and amazement that you would have been so blessed.

"You will be so many things, things many would not think to credit you with until they see it unfold. Some things very few will know, but that is of no matter; those who NEED to know, will know. You will be a conduit for the wisdom you were gifted with, the wisdom of your grandfather and those he entrusted your learning to, sending that wisdom onward to generations that will follow you. You will have two great loves in your life, and they will walk beside you to the end, one to each side of you, never failing you. Brothers and sisters you will have, who will bear eternal fondness for you. And children!"

Here Dieter Van stopped, his eyes widening as even he was startled at what he saw. Then he laughed with delight.

"Andrew - for I must now call you Andrew, for what I have seen means there must be no formality between us, at least not in private. Andrew, you and I will have a daughter together, and her name will be Helandra. Can you imagine the wonder of that??!"

Andrew gaped at the soldier smiling down at him with such joy. 

{"Boy, I wonder if he's been sampling the schnapps that old guy outside of Hammelburg sells??!"}

"And you and -" here Dieter turned his head and cast a knowing smile back at the corner around which lay Barracks 2 and the rest of the camp - "you and your first true love, one who sleeps so close to you even now, you will have many, many children together. I see a dozen, if not more! He will fear this, your love, fear that he is not worthy, and you must reassure him when the time comes. You will do quite well at the business, the pair of you, as well as the one who will walk beside you both, and your children will look at you with love and respect, and will honor you, as will their children and their children's children.

"Guard him well, your love, AND your brothers, AND yourself, for no future is guaranteed. But this I have Seen, as my grandfather taught me to See, and I believe it will come to be for you and yours."

Andrew watched as Dieter Van turned and made his way back around the corner to continue his guarding of the perimeter.

"Andrew?? W'at the bloody 'ell was all that about?" Newkirk asked from the corner. "Know 'e can 'ave some odd starts now and then, but sounded like Dieter might be slipping a cog!"

"Well, stress can do that to a man, I've heard," Andrew scrambled to reply, thinking madly on how to distract Newkirk from all, heck, from ANY of that prediction. 

"Why, once, my cousin's uncle Talks To Ravens got cornered by a mountain lion, up in the hills, and was stuck for almost a week before he managed to get away. Then, coming back, the river went over its banks, and he got swept away and ended up waaay . . ."

"Forget I asked, Andrew! Just forget I asked! Blimey, tween that bloody kraut's nonsense and YOUR nonsense, yer giving me a bloody 'eadache!"

Andrew smirked, "yeah, I hear that a lot. Even my dad used to say -"

"Andrew! Just stop nattering on, will you??!"

They were still squabbling when they went back inside Barracks 2, though not in earnest, only to be met by Colonel Hogan.

"Hey, just the guys I wanted to see! The Kommandant is insisting on some expert help to get that new flower bed planted, and he seemed to think you would be just the person, Carter. Said Corporal Van and Corporal Langenscheidt suggested it. He still can't figure out why the guards thought he needed a new flower bed, or why they dug one for him as a surprise, without a plan for what to plant, but he's dumped it in our laps. Now, what do we have going on that we could use that little project as a diversion, hmmm? It's not a huge space, so put your mind to it and let me know what you come up with."

"Uh, Colonel, I've seen the spot and I was thinking a nice little collection of geraniums might be nice. Those red ones, you know? Like Colonel Crittendon was always going on about," Carter offered with a rather artless smile. "With some other stuff, too, of course."

"Ugh, don't even mention that name! I hope to hell we've seen the last of that man! Every time I turn around, I keep expecting to see him over in the corner, screwing things up again!" Hogan said with a shudder.

"Well, maybe he's off doing something else, Colonel, and won't come back to cause any more trouble. Maybe he's off growing some geraniums or something," and there was that smile again. 

The little garden was completed, and Carter smiled proudly and turned over a shiny ribbon-bedecked trowel (symbolic, of course) to the Kommandant, to the accompaniment of clapping and cheers from the guards and prisoners gathered around for the ceremony.

Everyone admitted it was rather a bright and cheery place, if slightly odd in the plant selections and design. Even the Kommandant, while pleased at the overall effect, quietly remarked on it to Hogan, standing beside him.

"Red geraniums. Very bright, of course. But white daisies? Aren't they a little, well, informal next to the geraniums?"

Hogan shrugged. Plants weren't really his thing. "Carter was in charge of the planting, and he's not a real formal kind of a guy, you know. I'm surprised he put in the geraniums, actually. I figured he'd stick to all wildflowers."

Klink nodded knowingly, "yes, yes, that's true. Carter is really a very simple person, not sophisticated, of course. Impossible to know just WHAT he was thinking." A thoughtful look came over Klink's face. 

"There are all kinds of sayings about flowers, did you know that, Hogan? It's fascinating, really. I have read that there is a secret language of flowers, but not everyone agrees on what some of the 'words' mean. 

"Why, even here in this little garden, there is such a variety of unspoken words, and they don't seem to quite go together any more than the flowers do. Geraniums, if someone sent you geraniums, they were considered a warning or perhaps an insult, meaning 'stupidity' or 'folly'. The purple hyacinths supposedly meant 'I'm sorry'. The white roses in the middle of each side? White roses meant 'secrecy', and those tiny holly bushes at each corner? I have to admit I think they were a poor choice; they will outgrow the space very quickly and make it impossible to get to the rest. But holly supposedly meant 'defense', in particular, 'in defense of domestic happiness'. Such an odd combination."

Hogan rolled his eyes, "yeah, well, I don't think Carter is really into the 'language of the flowers', Kommandant. And that still doesn't account for the daisies. The only thing I remember about daisies was that old song about 'daisies won't tell'. Or the saying about someone 'pushing up daisies'. No, I think Carter was just going by whatever he saw on sale that looked or sounded good to him. 

"But I admit the compass rose in the center is nice, at least for now. Don't think you're going to be able to see it much, once everything grows up," looking at that small construct made from glossy stones, with a bit of colored glass marking the N-E-S-W designations. "Still, anyone ever gets lost, guess they could reorient themselves with that; keep from going in the wrong direction," the senior prisoner of war laughed.

Hogan was barely even listening to himself. {"This has to be the most meaningless, inane conversation I've ever had, even with Klink!"}

Carter, Newkirk and the others from Barracks 2 were close enough to overhear, and Carter couldn't keep that tiny flicker of an amused smile off his face. He was very careful not to look at Newkirk; he could feel those narrowed eyes resting on him, searching, could almost read his best friend's mind. 

{"Andrew, yer up to something; I bloody well know it! Just w'at, though, that is a real puzzlement!"}. Well, he knew Andrew's mind worked in strange and mysterious ways, sometimes. He figured he'd wiggle the truth out of him sooner or later.

And later, in the Kommandant's office, when the Kommandant was safely off in Hammelburg, over a glass of schnapps - the good stuff, the bottle NOT having been purchased from the old man who lived outside Hammelburg and concocted his goods from highly dubious ingredients - Sergeant Schultz pondered once again over the set of ID tags that had been presented to him with what surely had to be the most bizarre tale he had heard recently. 

Taking another swallow, he sighed and looked at Dieter Van and Karl Langenscheidt. 

"Perhaps I will 'find' these, my next trip to Dusseldorf. Or better still, when I pass over the bridge on my way to Dusseldorf, perhaps I will stop to look at the water below, and they might accidentally slip through my fingers." 

He thought, and then shook his head with resolution. "No, I think your 'magical pool' in the forest would be best, no, Karl? It already hides so many secrets - what is one more? And like the daisies, it also does not tell. I will take care of it tomorrow."

And the three men nodded, shared another glass of schnapps, along with a farewell toast to "the man who wasn't there', and another to the men who still were, and hoped the next bit of excitement would be very far down the road. Though Karl was very sure there was material for a very engrossing book somewhere in all of this. With the way things were going, he'd have enough to keep him writing for the rest of his life.

Ten years later, at Haven:

"A red geranium. I haven't seen one of those in years," Caeide smiled at the present her sister Meghada had brought her during the family's visit. Now, after the family had left, she'd put it on the sideboard in the big front room to admire.

"Coo, 'aven't even thought about those in years," Peter Newkirk admitted. "There was this bloke, back during the war, a Colonel Crittendon. Kept nattering on about planting those things along the runways at the air bases. Remember, Andrew?"

Andrew Carter had an odd look on his face, but he hastened to reply, "uh, yeah, Peter, I remember."

Turning to Caeide, Newkirk told some of the stories of the mayhem the British officer had perpetuated at Stalag 13.

Newkirk let out a disgusted hmmmph, and looked at Andrew.

"Still can't imagine you planting them in that flower garden of ole Klink's. Last thing I'd think any of us were wanting was any reminder of Crittendon. And all that other stuff you put in there; odd combination, if you ask me. W'at on earth gave you the notion, Andrew?"

There was a slight pause, then Andrew got a very sheepish look on his face, and replied, "well, that's kinda an interesting story . . ."

And in the silence that followed the tale, while Peter was still sitting there staring at his partner, his luv, in shock and disbelief, Caeide went and got the bottles and glasses. Somehow, a stiff drink just seemed to be in order, no matter it was not quite lunchtime yet.


End file.
